


Somewhere Safe

by Oliver__Niko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (or is it), Anxiety, Crushes, F/M, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, One-Sided Attraction, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 06:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Bernadetta is overwhelmed from the Ethereal Moon ball, choosing to hide rather than participate. This doesn't go unnoticed by Sylvain, however, who does his best to help calm her down.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier & Bernadetta von Varley, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: A Lost Ballroom of Gold





	Somewhere Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my fic for the Lost Ballroom of Gold zine! I really enjoyed writing this and hope it makes for a fun read, too.

This is a terrible idea. Bernadetta has known from the start that she is simply not cut out for this. She wasn’t in the past, isn’t now and probably won’t ever be.

The White Heron Cup was enough. She remembers the fear she had when hiding away in her room all too well, terrified that Byleth was going to ask her if she wanted to participate in the Cup on the Black Eagles’ behalf. Not once, in her entire life, has she particularly enjoyed any event like this. Even if she became more isolated after the treatment by her father, she has always simply been introverted, much preferring to hide away with some nice literature or sewing rather than attend a social event.

But even with the relief of not being chosen as the representative for the White Heron Cup, Bernadetta still has to face another challenge: the Ethereal Moon Ball held in the same month. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t attend at all. But all of her friends have encouraged her to do so, including Edelgard and the professor, and she didn’t want to let them down.

_But you’re just as embarrassing being here, Bernie!_

She has no idea who even decided to change the idea of this ball to a masquerade. Apparently, some students started gushing about living out a fairytale-like ball, and somehow, the idea was popular enough to become reality. On one hand, Bernadetta welcomes the change; hiding her face definitely has a number of benefits. But this also means she might not be able to recognise those she knows, not to mention how it is embarrassing in general for her.

Which she knows makes little sense. All around her are students in their evening attire, masks upon smiling faces, so she is far from the only person here engaging in the masquerade theme. Her anxiety simply does not listen to that kind of reasoning.

Her self-deprecating thoughts continue to run rampant as she stands to one side in the hall, arms wrapped around her stomach in an attempt to feel smaller. It’s not exactly helping. And even if it did, perhaps looking small isn’t exactly what she wants in a place like this. Doing so would almost feel as though she’s about to be crushed by all the people crowding the room, dancing together and laughing and chatting, because _they_ unlike her are normal, and they _—_

“Um, hello there?”

“ _Eek!”_ Bernadetta visibly jumps, her eyes landing on a student with brown hair and an emerald green mask. She opens her mouth, closes again, before she asks, “W-why are you talking to me? Did I do something?”

“What? No, not at all!” The person waves their hands in front of them. “I just _—_ I think you’re really cute, and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe dance with me?”

“Dance … Dance with you?”

“Yeah! That’d be great, but no pressure.”

No pressure? Bernadetta already feels anxiety pressing down on her chest, and she finds herself shaking her head, throat closed up with her attempt to get words out. “I-I …”

“Like I said, you really don’t have to if you don’t _—_ ”

“I’m sorry!” she interrupts, pushing past the person and hurrying away. Not that this helps at all when she is heading _directly_ into the crowds, where she is surrounded by even more voices, faces, people moving about and bumping into her and _—_

Her instincts to flee when in a panic grant her the ability to dive beneath a table, concealed by a cloth hanging to the floor. There isn’t any change in the voices around her. Hopefully, for once, she can be lucky, and no one noticed her hiding away. 

“Great, Bernie,” she mumbles to herself, bringing her knees close to her body. “Just great. You _could_ have said no normally, left and gone back to your room. Instead, you hid under here.”

It’s nicer down here, of course; the noise around her doesn’t bother her in the same way, when she’s not being seen and others aren’t about to approach her. But still … Why has she bothered to do this when she could have tried to leave? Although she would have hated the necessary conversation she’d have if someone stopped her to ask where she is going. 

In reality, she could probably say she is ill, or even simply tired, and keep on walking. But Bernadetta isn’t the type of person to lie. _Useless, useless, useless,_ she thinks, tears welling in her eyes as her forehead rests against her knees.

She’s always been terrible at this. Being good at social gatherings like these, at dancing and charming others and being that perfect noble girl, is exactly what would have made her a great daughter. Her father might love her if she was good at this. But she isn’t. Far from it.

One time, she burst into tears and ran away when a boy asked her to dance. One time, she spilt food down herself, and her father was _furious_ that she stained the dress her mother picked out for her. Another time, she twisted her ankle in the heels she wore, and another …

Simply put, she has never been great at something that should be normal for nobles. And even though she thought she was gaining confidence at the monastery _—_ which she would still, despite all her insecurities, say that she is _—_ it seems as though she’s not quite there yet, to be better at something like this in particular.

_Stupid Bernie. Stupid, stupid_ _—_

Light shines on her as the tablecloth is lifted, and she lets out a shriek, hiding her face. Before she has time to speak to her intruder, she hears someone say, “Sorry! But try to keep it down; you came here to hide, right?”

“Sylvain?” She lifts her head, lowering her hands down from it and watching as Sylvain slides beneath the table with her. Since he’s much taller than she is, he has a much more difficult time settling down, but he somehow manages it. He holds a finger to his lips; a crimson mask is worn over his eyes.

“Be quiet,” he says. “I think I’m the only one who heard you come under here.”

A welcoming shadow is cast over the pair when Sylvain lets go of the table cloth. It’s _definitely_ amusing to look at him, trying to keep his legs folded without taking up too much room (and certainly doing so a great deal) _—_ luckily, Bernadetta is curled up tightly, her own legs brought right up to her, meaning Sylvain can afford to squeeze in too.

“Hopefully,” she answers. “Um, please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “That’d just be awful of me. Do you find the ball overwhelming?”

Bernadetta hums, shrinking a little more into herself. “There are just … so many people here. Too many. And I’ve never been good at things like this in general.”

“While that’s completely fine, it’s a shame that a girl as cute as you isn’t out there dancing.”

This causes Bernadetta to blink, her eyes averting up to Sylvain. He’s smiling normally, no winks or anything, but … Is that flirting? Does she want it to be? All Sylvain has done has done to Bernadetta herself is compliment her writing. Eventually, once Bernadetta managed to get over her initial embarrassment, she has been able to talk to Sylvain about literature.

She has never been a target for potential flirting. And she’s not sure if she can handle that or not. “P-please don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

It’s a genuine question, he too now the one to blink, a little concern in his eyes. Perhaps he truly hadn’t meant to flirt; it might have only been a compliment. “Um, I meant flirting. Please don’t do that.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Bernadetta. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Sylvain scratches the back of his head. “I sort of say stuff like that without thinking, sometimes.”

“No, it’s okay, I just … I’m not used to it.” Certainly not enough for her to understand why Sylvain’s words bother her a little. Perhaps there is a part of her who _wants_ to feel as though she is worth flirting with. She’s not sure, which is another reason why she must be so annoying to deal with.

“I’m surprised, since you’re really sweet. Even if a bit shy. So if you really don’t want to attend the ball, why don’t you just leave?”

“It’s … a bit complicated, I guess.” She rests her chin on her knees, meeting Sylvain’s eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze again. “I don’t want to be stopped along the way and asked why I’m leaving so early. I mean, I already feel like I’m annoying everyone enough as it is.” The words continuously fall out of her mouth, slowly slipping into an anxious spiral. “Everyone has already had to convince me to attend, and I’m already a burden on them with how stupid I’ve been over this, and _—_ ”

“Hey, now,” Sylvain interrupts gently. “You’re not a burden just because you struggle with events like these. We all have our weaknesses, right?”

“But—but I’m a noble! I’ve had to attend balls like these countless times, and I should be used to it by now.” Her forehead leans against her knees, and she curses herself mentally for how she can feel her eyes sting again. “But look at me, hiding under a table. I’m _nothing_ like how I should be.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Sylvain shuffle, as though leaning closer to her as he pays attention. “That’s not true, you know. Sure, nobles are _expected_ to be good at stuff like this, but those are just expectations. It doesn’t matter if you don’t fit in with them. I mean, look at my other friends. Dimitri is going to be a king, but he _hates_ dancing.”

“Really?” Bernadetta raises her head in shock. “But he looks like he’s doing fine.”

“Only because he had to get dancing lessons from Ingrid and me,” says Sylvain, shaking his head in amusement. “I did it at first, before we realised that he had to learn how to lead others, and I was the one leading him. So Ingrid tried, and … well, we got somewhere eventually.”

Bernadetta laughs lightly. “That’s pretty funny, I have to admit. What about Felix, didn’t he help?”

“Oh Goddess, _definitely_ not. It’s not as though Felix is a _bad_ dancer, he’s just not a social person. Things like this make him anxious, too.”

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “But he’s so … scary!”

“He _seems_ scary,” Sylvain corrects her, grinning. “But he’s got a soft side, too. And he doesn’t do well in social situations like these. He’s already run off to polish swords after way, way too much socialising.”

She laughs again. A little brighter this time, feeling a weight leave her chest. “That’s actually really reassuring. I’m glad it’s not just me, and he always seems so cool that I’d have never guessed.” Now that she is calmer, her mind goes back over what Sylvain says, and she realises something. “Um … Before, you said ‘other’ friends.”

“Yeah? What about that?”

“That means you also see me as … you know.”

Her words drift off, but Sylvain catches on to what she is trying to say quickly. His smile grows. “You’re my friend too, aren’t you?”

Bernadetta blinks once, twice. It’s difficult for her to fathom being friends with someone far cooler than she is. Eventually, however, a small smile grows on her face, and she brings her knees even closer to herself. “I’m your … friend.”

It’s strange. She is filled with a joy she wasn’t quite expecting to experience today of all days. In theory, she and Sylvain are exactly what one would imagine when describing friends. They get along, share similar interests, and have talked about them as well. Perhaps she has never thought that this means _she_ is special in some way—Sylvain, after all, is a gregarious person in general. He could have simply been friendly.

To know he sees them as friends as well warms her heart completely. On the flipside, however, there is a part of her that is mildly disappointed, and she has no clue at all as to why.

Either way, Sylvain has completely turned this night around for her. Her heart has finally settled somewhat, even when she notices all the voices surrounding this table, and though she’s still anxious over what will happen she leaves, she is far calmer than before.

Sylvain soon has a solution for this problem, too. “I have a plan to get you out of here, by the way,” he says. “To be honest, my legs are dead as hell, and I can’t stay under this table as long as you. Plus, I can tell you really don’t want to be here.”

Bernadetta hums, shaking her head. “I mean, sitting here with you is better. But we definitely can’t stay forever.”

“Exactly. So, I’m going to go get started on my plan. Come out of here in five minutes, okay?”

“Um, okay. And where should I go after that?”

“Just stand near this table. It’ll be fine, don’t worry!”

That reassuring voice and kind smile are enough for her; she breathes out and nods, even having to stifle a laugh when Sylvain, far from gracefully, has to crawl out from beneath the tablecloth. It leaves Bernadetta feeling incredibly grateful for her lack of height.

“Sylvain?” Ingrid’s voice, Bernadetta thinks. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“Uh, a girl.”

“Did she hit you? Maybe that’s why you shouldn’t be so pushy with women, Sylvain.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bernadetta notices their footsteps walking away. She exhales, resting her forehead on her knees again. Luckily, she is sure she can sneak her way back out from beneath the table in a much less obvious way than Sylvain, but the thought of doing so still makes her anxious. She simply has to have faith in Sylvain’s plan.

Five minutes soon passes, and she carefully stands up again without anyone noticing. Her eyes close briefly, an exhale escaping her lips; though the room is barely louder at all in reality, it still seems to crash against her senses.

“Bernadetta?”

“Gah!” Bernadetta’s head swivels to Byleth, who has wandered over to her. “Um, hi professor. Is something wrong?”

They shake their head. “Not at all. Would you be able to come outside with me for a moment?”

Though they have already said that nothing is wrong, Bernadetta’s brain still goes into overdrive. Is she in trouble? Is there a rule specifically stating that students cannot hide beneath tables, and will face harsh punishment for doing so?

“Is … is everything okay?” is what Bernadetta manages to squeak out, as the two of them begin to walk across the hall. Byleth faces her, giving her a smile.

“You’re not in trouble,” they say. “No need to worry.”

The words are reassuring, but even so, nothing can quite shift that sense of dread in Bernadetta’s stomach. She follows Byleth outside silently. And, despite how much her mind and heart alike are racing, the cool evening breeze helps put her at ease just a little.

“Um, so what did you want to speak to me about?”

“Bernadetta, you didn’t have to stay at the ball at all if you were too anxious to do so,” Byleth says. “You were never pressured to join, but you already did wonderfully by attending at all, and you were free to leave whenever you wanted to.”

“Oh.” In an instant, similarly to when Sylvain helped to ease her panic earlier, Bernadetta finds herself relaxing. A smile grows on her face. “Thank you, professor. Um, I might go back to my room after all, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. Do exactly what you need to.”

With those words, Byleth pats Bernadetta’s shoulder with a gentle, careful hand, before they head back the way the two came. Once alone, Bernadetta breathes out, both touched by their care and also relieved. It’s a shame she missed Sylvain, though—hopefully she would spot him on her way back.

Now comforted and cooled down by the evening air, Bernadetta’s eyes seek the sky above her, with all of its stars and a beautiful shining moon. And, rather than rush with returning to her room, she decides to linger to observe all of those different stars, smiling at the sky. It’s not so bad being out here, after all, when night has fallen and most of the students are still inside.

“I see it worked!”

She jumps slightly over the exclamation, although is more taken by curiosity when her eyes land on Sylvain. “Sylvain? What are you … _oh.”_ A realisation dawns on her, and she glances in the direction Byleth came from. “Wait, was that your doing?”

“That’s right! I reckoned if Byleth directly asked if you wanted to go, you might have lied to please them, so I asked them to encourage you to leave the hall in another way.”

“I … I see. Um, thank you, Sylvain.” Bernadetta ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm at the thoughtfulness. “That was really considerate of you.”

“Don’t mention it. I hated seeing you as anxious as that.” Sylvain comes closer to her, a smile on his face as his eyes glance at the sky above them. “It’s really beautiful out here.”

“Mm. It really is.” Bernadetta’s words are slow, almost drifting away as she grants herself a moment to look at Sylvain’s face and realises how handsome he is, staring up at the sky like that with a smile on his face, moonlight highlighting his skin and mask. She drops her gaze when his head lowers. “Why do some girls dislike you, Sylvain?” she ends up blurting out, and soon babbles, “Goddess, that was so rude to ask, I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s fine. I guess I’ve earned those types of questions,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I … don’t really treat girls the best. I take them on dates, we do certain things, and then I drop them for the next. That’s why they dislike me.”

“But it’s really hard to imagine you doing that,” says Bernadetta. “I mean, you do nothing like that to me.”

“That’s because you’re different, Bernadetta. Those girls, they only see me for my Crest, my family name and the money I have. But my friends aren’t like that, and I would never abandon them in the same way.” Sylvain grins sheepishly. “So yeah. I do a lot of crappy things, and I’m not the _best_ person. But I don’t want to hurt my friends either.”

“I think I get that. Some of it, anyway. I don’t really like how they don’t see that there’s more to you.” Bernadetta drops her eyes to the floor, smiling. “I mean, you like literature for one thing, and that’s really cool. I would have never expected that.”

“I’m a multi-talented guy, after all,” says Sylvain, and out of the corner of Bernadetta’s eye, she notices him wink. “I’m strong, I like literature, art, ride horses. The professor is even teaching me to ride a wyvern. So, you know. Lots of layers, and lots to love.”

Bernadetta laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know how to respond to that, but I agree on the layers. It’d be fun to write a character based on you.”

“I would _adore_ that,” says Sylvain, his tone growing genuine again, along with his smile. Bernadetta can tell he means it.

The two of them soon part with their farewells, feeling as though they are closer friends than ever before. And Bernadetta, smiling to herself as she opens the door to her room, realises why that word ‘friend’ causes a mixture of joy and disappointment; this must be what it feels like to have a crush on someone.

Of course, someone like Sylvain could never like her back in the same way, and he is simply far kinder than most realise. Bernadetta cannot even be sure if she _truly_ has feelings for him, or if she is simply touched by all the care he has shown her tonight.

Either way, she is far happier than she would have expected to be on a night like this one, and she couldn’t be more thankful for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to follow me @nikobynight on Twitter for 3H posts and artwork, and/or Oliver__Niko for other fandoms.


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